A Very Merry Finwëan Christmas
by starlightwalking
Summary: Christmas Eve is an interesting night for Finwë and his family. ONESHOT.


Inspired by freshprinceofbeleriand and notdaddyslittleprincess on tumblr. Features some Russingon.

Merry Christmas!

* * *

 **A Very Merry Finwëan Christmas**

* * *

"It's lovely to see you all here for Christmas," Finwë said, beaming at all his posterity. Children of all ages waited for him to finish talking, eyeing the food on the table behind him hungrily. The eyes of many adults strayed to the dinner table as well.

"I know many of you traveled far to make it here, and I am very grateful to see the whole family gathered together this holiday season." Finwë clapped his hands. "Now, I know you're all hungry, so I won't talk any further. Go, eat!"

Chaos broke out as everyone dashed toward the food. Finwë took a step back, his eyes wide, as he watched his children and grandchildren descend upon the meal. His wife Indis chuckled and took his hand.

"Kids will be kids," she said, smiling fondly at her excited descendents.

"Fëanor's not a kid anymore," Finwë remarked, watching as his eldest set upon the mashed potatoes with fire in his eyes.

"He never really grew up all the way," Indis remarked.

Fëanor, true to his stepmother's words, was indeed acting like a child, piling far more potatoes onto his plate than was strictly necessary.

"Fëanor, save some for the rest of the family!" Fingolfin said.

Fëanor glared at his half-brother. "These are _mine_ , Fingolfin! My family made them! If you want potatoes, you should have made your own!" He brandished the serving spoon at Fingolfin's face, dropping a dollop of potatoes onto his brother's nose.

"That's—" Fingolfin trailed off, realizing it was futile. He gritted his teeth and sighed. "Fine, Fëanor. I guess I won't have potatoes this year." He wiped the mash off his face and walked away, shaking his head.

Fëanor glared after him, then scooped one more spoonful of potatoes on his plate for good measure. From the other end of the table, Fingolfin's younger brother Finarfin watched the family drama with a raised eyebrow. When he caught Fëanor glaring, he only shrugged and helped himself to some pudding.

All the young cousins ate together happily for a while. Once everyone was full, however, things got a little more interesting. Aredhel, Celegorm, and Curufin quickly disappeared outside, no doubt up to no good. Most of the young kids—Fëanor's toddler twins, baby Galadriel and little Aegnor, young Angrod—were gathered up by their parents and played together under their mothers' watchful supervision.

As Fëanor and Fingolfin argued incessantly, with Finarfin's occasional interjections, the women of the house all exchanged amused glances.

"Did they squabble so when they were children?" Eärwen, Finarfin's wife, asked his sisters Írimë and Findis.

Findis shook her head forlornly and Írimë laughed. "Yes," Findis confirmed. "Family dinner each night was a trial."

"Sometimes Fëanor would get so mad at Fingolfin he wouldn't talk to him for weeks," Írimë added. "The house was quiet for a while, until Mother made them cooperate!"

"Well, they're adults now," Nerdanel murmured. "They really ought to act like it."

"Tell me about it," Anairë responded. "Sometimes it's endearing, when Fingolfin plays with the children, but with his _brother_..."

Eärwen laughed. "At least Finarfin's sensible enough to stay out of it, for the most part."

Indis smiled at her daughter-in-law. "It took him a while to learn that, though—when the boys were young he would sometimes try to take sides. Eventually he realized that it was fruitless—Fingolfin and Fëanor will argue until the day they die."

"They do love each other, though, at the very bottom of their hearts," Findis said. "Remember that one time, Írimë, when that one awful teacher they both had in high school kept picking on Fingolfin?"

"Mr. Melkor," Írimë said. "Yes—Fëanor gave _him_ such a talking-to one day, we got a letter home and they both transferred out of his class!"

"Probably for the best that Fëanor ended up in Mr. Aulë's class and Fingolfin in Ms. Yavanna's," Indis said. "They can unite against a common enemy, but left on their own..."

All the women laughed. Luckily, the boys were too absorbed in a squabble about their preferred football teams to notice.

All of Fëanor's family wore matching Christmas sweaters, knitted by Caranthir. Nerdanel was very proud of her middle son, and said so to all the adults present.

"Yes, they're very cozy," Fëanor confirmed, at his proudest. "Curufin did a good job."

" _Caranthir_ ," Nerdanel whispered, embarrassed he would mix up his own sons' names, or worse, credit his favorite son over the one who put in the effort.

"Yes—Caranthir," he corrected himself. "That's who I meant."

Upstairs, two teenage cousins were meeting in secret. Maedhros and Fingon hid in Grandpa Finwë's bathroom, kissing.

"I can't believe we're doing this _now_ ," Fingon murmured, holding Maedhros's hand. "Our dads are right downstairs—if they walked in on us—"

"The door's locked," Maedhros assured him. "We'll be safe."

Fingon smiled and kissed him. "I'm glad your family showed up. Last year it was just us, the aunts, and Uncle Finarfin. I missed you."

"No doubt your father didn't." Maedhros chuckled. "No, Mother convinced him. She has her methods of getting her way."

"I don't doubt it," Fingon agreed. "Merry Christmas, Maedhros."

Maedhros kissed him again. "Merry Christmas, Fingon."

In the backyard, it was snowing. Twelve-year-old Turgon was determinedly ignoring the cold and building himself an impressive snow fort.

"Hey, Turgon," Finrod said. "What are you doing?"

"Building a fortress to protect me from my enemies," Turgon said proudly.

"It's cold out here," Finrod said, shivering. "Grandma Indis is serving hot chocolate. You wanna get some with me?"

"I'm busy, Finrod," Turgon said. "Bring some out for me and I'll let you in my snow fort!"

"Okay," Finrod said. "I'll be right back."

He left. The fortress was almost done. As Turgon put the finishing touches on it, he heard his sister and two of his cousins approach.

"Hey, can we play in there, too?" Celegorm asked.

Turgon folded his arms. "No! Go away!"

"Come on, Turgon!" Aredhel protested. "I'm your sister!"

"No, it's _my_ fort, _I_ get to decide who's allowed inside!"

"I don't wanna play here anyway," Curufin said, turning away. "Bye, Turgon Meaniepants!"

The three of them laughed and walked away. Turgon scowled, but brightened with Finrod came back holding two hot chocolates.

"Come on in," he said, crawling inside. "It's nice and cozy."

A few hours passed, and everyone was getting a bit tired. Some of the younger children were already asleep. Grandpa Finwë gathered everyone up inside for one last thing before people started to leave for home. Even Angrod and Caranthir, who had been playing video games upstairs for most of the evening, were present.

"Let's all sing some Christmas carols," he suggested. "Maglor, why don't you lead us?"

Maglor, ever the musician, grinned. "I'd love to." He stood up and cleared his throat. "Okay, what about something sacred to start us off? O Come All Ye Faithful?"

Some people groaned, but that didn't deter him. Soon almost everyone was singing along.

" _O come all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant..._ "

After a few more songs, everyone was tired of hearing Maglor's beautiful voice and feeling self-conscious about their own.

"Why don't we get going?" Fingolfin suggested.

" _I_ was having fun," Fëanor complained.

Before yet another argument could break out, Grandpa Finwë stepped up.

"I'm glad you all came to visit us this Christmas Eve," he said. "Indis and I really appreciate it. We love you all. Drive safe—and merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas," the Finwëans echoed, smiling at each other in the holiday spirit of goodwill. "Merry Christmas."


End file.
